To Light the Shadows on Your Face
by tiger-bell
Summary: Wendy waits patiently by her window for Peter to return, but when he does, he is haunted and distant, and does not come often. She is confused by this new front, and must try to reach who he once was before he loses himself...
1. When I'm Gone, You'll Need Love

Wendy looked at the ceiling of her new room and wished to cry desperately, but no tears came. There was no way to get out these confusing feelings she had but to ignore, but she could not sleep. Quietly, she rose from her bed and picked up a new book she'd borrowed from the library. It was, of course, Peter Pan, her friend had written it for her after she told him the stories. There were so many things wrong in it, however, that it sometimes disturbed her. "There never was a happier or simpler family." Wendy almost laughed allowed to read such a sentence about her own family. Her mother was completely out of touch with reality, always shopping and spending and moving about dreamily, while her father also drained the accounts in the stock market. Michael had become a horrid, spoiled brat who enjoyed watching violent or dangerous things such as car wrecks. John was the only one she still was close to. He was muted, his childhood lost as he moved emptily about the house, ignoring the insults thrown at him with wounded looks. She once heard him whispering in the dark for Peter to take him back to Neverland. Wendy patted the bed silently and closed the book, waiting as Nana threw her big furry person onto the bed with gusto, and the curtains fluttered. The girl's heart beat with anticipation, and she sat up slowly. "Peter..." she called hopefully. The curtains stopped moving, and she lay down, disappointed. He had not returned. Wendy closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, trying not to recall Peter. He too had left her, and she was alone in the world with her new adulthood. When she woke the next morning, there was a skeleton leaf by her window. Wendy's spirit danced inside her joyfully, and she reached to pick it up. As son as she brushed it with her fingertips, it blew out the window and floated gently onto a London rooftop. Wendy knew she should be slightly heartbroken, but instead she smiled- it was classic Peter, always flying away when you needed him. She was confident though- he would return. Soon, since he had left the leaf, and it was only a matter of time- the question was, her time or his? Wendy dressed quickly in her school uniform, grabbing her books and hurrying Michael and John through their daily morning routine. After eating hastily, the trio hurried into the street and walked to the prep school they now attended. The Lost Boys, in their anxiousness, had rushed ahead of the original Darlings long ago, and were now chattering in their respective classes with other students. Michael trailed into his own classroom, and Wendy stopped John, turning him toward her. "John. I want you to know that these boys are just selfish brutes, and you do not deserve their beatings. No one can make you feel inferior without your permission." He nodded and blinked dark eyes at her, plodding into the small instruction room he learned English in. Wendy walked to her own lesson, holding her head high and marching into it with a sigh. Marie Champlain looked at her and sneered. "Look who it is. The bookworm. It's so sad that you think you're as good as us, Wendy." Wendy opened a book and ignored her, but Marie walked over and continued her torment. "You're just a gutter rat- your father is a bookie, just like your filthy brother, Michael." She shut Wendy's book and looked her in the eyes. "Too bad your mother sleeps around so much, or she might be watching him." Wendy's fists clenched under the table, and Marie sneered. "Are you sure you're not the milkman's daughter? I'm sure your mother would hate you even if you were legitimate." Wendy stood up and knocked Marie across the face, and she crumpled in the corner, holding her cheek and whimpering. Satisfied, the Darling sat down and reopened her book. "Hate is a word people use when speaking about YOU, Marie." Moments later, Wendy found herself sitting stiffly on a chair in the headmistress's office. "Hold out your hand." The old woman said coldly. Obediently, the girl stuck out her hand, and bit her cheek to keep from crying out as the headmistress brought the ruler down whistling on her pale hand. A red stripe puffed up immediately, and the woman asked her angrily how old she was. "Fourteen," she answered, and the headmistress said icily, "Then you have twenty-eight demerits. Report to the custodian for your chores." Wendy nodded and left, bending over the sink outside and spitting the blood out of her mouth. She had bit her cheek too hard. Wendy let the water run over the blood, watching as the water swirled around it and erased it slowly, until there was no trace it had been there at all. She walked to the janitor's office and received an errand that used four demerits- scrubbing the stones in the courtyard. Wendy dutifully lugged the buckets outside and began, scouring them with the old muddy rag that made it worse. Many hours later, she guessed, her brothers showed up as she was just finishing. "School's been out a while." Said Tootles. "How many demerits?" asked Curly. "Twenty-eight." She responded. The Twins, Charles and Geoffrey, gasped in unison. "Twenty-eight?" She nodded. Nibs gave her a dark look. "I hate that horrid old woman. I'll plan a battle against her; she ever gives you any of this crap-" "Nibs! You are not to use such language around impressionable ears!" Nibs regarded Wendy stonily, and replied, "It's Angus now." Indeed, they had all chosen names for themselves when they came to England, and they were only called by their old monikers in the house. Curly was now Theodore, and Tootles was Rupert. Slightly, who lived with Aunt Millicent, had chosen Patrick. The boys helped Wendy to her feet and volunteered to run the bucket back to the custodial offices for her. She winced as they took her hand, and slowly started back home. When they got there, Wendy feigned sickness for dinner and went up to her room to think. Her mother did not sleep around, and her father was not using all the money. Just a lot. She decided that she loved her family and all their problems, and closed her eyes. A rush of air blew into the room, and her eyes shot open as Peter sailed into it. "Oh! You didn't forget!" Wendy ran over to him and wrapped him in her arms. He pulled away, saying, "You grew!" She laughed. "So did you!" Peter had broader shoulders, a huskier voice, and darker hair, but the same smile. He was taller than she now, and was regarding her slowly, making his way from her hair to her toes. Wendy noticed his bright green eyes linger a long moment on her chest, and she blushed, crossing her arms over it. Peter asked her, "How old are you now?" "Fourteen." Peter, who had a tendency to float as opposed to standing, came crashing to the floor, and landed on a ring. "Ow!" He cried, rubbing the arch of his foot gently. She took it back and set it on her dresser hastily. "That was a ring. Do you have suitors?" He asked suspiciously. She gulped and shook her head slowly. Peter knew she was lying and felt his chin, making sure she hadn't kissed someone and given his thimble to them instead. "Well, I just wanted to see you. Bye!" He called, starting out the window. She ran over to it and grabbed his foot. It threw him off balance, and he twisted back and slid toward her, his legs slipping under hers and ending up with the two on the floor, Wendy draped over Peter, and both teenagers blushing. They lay in the dark a moment, and Peter asked, "Shouldn't you be off me now?" Wendy stood up quickly and said, "Oh, yes, of course, r-right away..." Peter looked at her and whispered, "You are growing up beautifully." He turned and flew out the window before she could say a word, as she saw something small and glittering fall from his body as he turned. It was a single tear. Gently, she picked it up and kissed it, placing the drop on the windowsill. In the morning, it had frozen, and she put it in her locket, closing the clasp around the sphere of ice. Wendy wrote on her school slate, "COME BACK", and hung it on the trellis, hoping he would see it. A month passed, and he had not returned, so sadly, she brought it back inside. He had not forgotten, but he was not willing to see her again, and she would not push the issue. 


	2. If a Great Wave Shall Fall

-Not part of the Story- The characters of Peter Pan, Wendy, Michael, John, Nibs, Tootles, Slightly, the Twins, Curly, Mr. and Mrs. Darling belong to J.M. Barrie. The character of Aunt Millicent, I believe, belongs to P.J. Hogan? This is based on the 2003 movie and the book. Loosely. I always forget this sort of stuff in the first chapter, sorry.-Back to the Story, folks.-  
  
-The next morning-Wendy noticed when she woke up the next morning that the house was silent- her mother wasn't rattling around in the kitchen making breakfast. She knew her father left for work early, so she herself went to find her mother. Opening the door of her parents' master bedroom, she walked inside. A figure lay huddled in a pile of down blankets on the bed, and as Wendy came closer to it, she saw it was her mum. Mrs. Darling's face was deathly pale, her eyes shut peacefully. Wendy reached out and shook her mother. "Mum...Mother, wake up." When she received no response, she pulled back the covers and sat her mother up, holding her in her arms and shaking her slightly. After a moment, Wendy noticed that she didn't feel a heartbeat underneath her hand, and it was directly on her mother collarbone. Laying her mum down, Wendy pressed an ear to her mother's chest. Silence. She wasn't breathing either. A flash of black on the white carpet caught Wendy's eye. It was an empty medicine bottle. A glass on Mrs. Darling's bed stand was empty, with lipstick prints on the edge. Wendy looked at her mother white face, dark circles under her eyes, and began to scream. "No! No!" She howled violently, rocking her mother in her arms. Tears ran in rivers down her face, and she did not stop screaming. Her mother was so cold, icy, and Wendy rubbed her hands, tucked the covers over them. She brushed the hair from her mother's high cheekbones, kissed her eyelids. "Mummy..." she wept. Her mother did not answer.  
  
-A day later-Wendy sat stiffly at the funeral, black lace obscuring her view. She started to push it aside, and Aunt Millicent smacked her hand. Slowly, Wendy began to count the number of feathers on the hats in the audience- anything to keep her mind from reality. Her eyes fixed themselves on the coffin, and tears rolled down her face. She would never see her mother's piercing blue eyes again, would never hear her laugh or feel her loosen Wendy's corset laces when Aunt Millicent wasn't looking- Wendy swallowed hard and began to sing to herself very softly, trying with all her might to stop crying for the sake of her brothers. She felt small hands slide around her waist, and a face buried itself in her black velvet gown. Wendy looked down to see John's dark hair as he used her skirt to muffle his moans. He had been the closest to Mrs. Darling, where as Michael was "his father's son". The priest said softly, "Lord, deliver us all from this world where we must face tragedies such as the death of a loved one..." Wendy's head jolted up with a start, and she got a reproachful glance from Aunt Millicent, who did not approve of "jolting". "'Deliver us all from this world...'" Peter! Peter could save them, if he came back. All they would need to do is wait, stay where they were.  
  
-A few days later -"Could you repeat that?" Wendy asked, blinking. "You heard me. This is a terrible environment for you children to grow up in, considering...recent circumstances." Aunt Millicent trailed. "So I have arranged for you all to leave in a week for America- they have nice schools and your Aunt and Uncle Margaret and Ewan will be housing and raising you three." Wendy raised her eyebrows. "Us three? We are eight." Aunt Millicent shook her head absently. "Well, naturally the others will go to an orphanage. You can't expect to force your mother's charity on others." "I don't believe this!" Wendy yelled. "I won't stand for it. They're coming with me or I'm not going!" She ran upstairs, and tripped on her gown, ripping the front of the fabric but not stopping. John and Michael stared after her, and then John yelled almost as loudly, "Me neither!" and ran upstairs. Michael asked his aunt suspiciously, "Is there much chocolate in America?" Aunt Millicent sighed and walked over to the phone. "Yes, I'd like a telegram delivered to Mr. and Mrs. Ewan Scott..." A few moments later, she brushed into Wendy's room. "Such inappropriate behavior from a young lady should not be rewarded! But, luckily, Ewan and Margaret have agreed to take in all eight of you, provided you use good manners and etiquette. Is that understood?" Wendy flung her arms around the old woman. "Oh, thank you, Aunt!" Aunt Millicent smiled and went downstairs to tell Liza what to make for dinner. Wendy sighed and began to pack- she had decided to celebrate the small victories.  
  
-A week later- Wendy was dressed for America, in a fawn hoop skirt trimmed with inky lace sewn with pearls and a low swooping (slightly padded) neckline, drawing attention to her budding breasts. Her hair was pulled back in a bun held by a pearl-studded black lace net, and she looked at her aunt. Tearfully, she hugged her tightly, and Aunt Millicent kissed her forehead. She pulled a bag from her side and handed it to Wendy. "It was your mother's. Open it on the boat," she whispered. Wendy nodded and lipped into the carriage, her brothers piling in beside her, except Curly (Theodore), whom she saw slip behind the house with a young girl his age and come out bright red with a lip mark on his cheek. Tootles/Rupert had given "his lady" the address in America, as had Charles and Geoffrey (The Twins) with their own. Nibs, who they'd thought hadn't a lady, had been casting longing glances at a brunette girl from his class who had appeared, tearful in a tightly busted red dress with a low neckline. As the carriage pulled away, that same girl had run forward and pulled a handkerchief from her bust, thrusting it through the window desperately. "Angus- don't forget me! Don't forget my kisses!" Nibs turned red and grabbed the handkerchief, stuffing it into his pocket. Michael cupped his hands over his chest, puckered and said in a falsetto voice, "Angus! Don't forget my kisses!" Nibs thumped the red-haired devil over the head and muttered, "Oh, shut up."  
  
-Yet another day later-While on the boat, the S.S. Queen Elizabeth, Wendy discovered that she was seasick. She hadn't been on the pirate ship, but the sea was choppy and grey, matching the threatening sky. As she stood on deck, rain began to pelt her, and as her siblings raced for cover inside, she stayed in the rain, letting the clouds pour down on her, lightning flashing behind her. Wendy thought she heard them screaming for her to go back inside, but if they did, she could not remember. For the longest and happiest time of her life thus far, Wendy sat in the pouring rain, letting her gown soak through and not caring; feeling thunder rumble the boat beneath her; letting her curls stick to her face and clothing. She felt close to her mother in that moment for a mysterious reason, and when droplets poured down her face, she couldn't tell if it was rain or tears. Wendy fell asleep on the deck, and when she awoke, it wasn't raining, but her ruined dress was still soaked, stuck to her skin. Peter sat on the railing of the boat, watching her, and she jumped up, slipping on the wet wood and landing in the same position she'd been in before. He smiled and reached out one hand for her to pull herself up. "Where are you going?" He asked. Wendy swallowed, and her face grew troubled as she bit her lip. "Peter, my mother...my mother killed herself," She rushed. "I have to go to America. To live with my aunt and uncle, so that we don't have to live in the same house." Peter pulled her up next to him and they ran into an empty room in the cruise ship halls. Obscured by a stack of chairs, the boy pulled her into his arms and murmured, "I am so sorry. I came when I saw you left your locket. I have no idea how you feel, but you can talk to me." Wendy pressed her face into his bare shoulder. "It's enough that you came," she said. They both started as the door flew open. A giggly brunette of about seventeen came in, wearing a sage green dress that swirled around her when she moved. Her long brown curls spun around her face like the dress, and she wore a bright smile. A young man, tall and broad-shouldered, maybe nineteen at the most, slipped in behind her, laughing, his entire face moving when he smiled. He has blue-green eyes and light brown hair, streaked with blond. Bowing to her, he waited for her to finish her curtsy, then danced over to the baby grand piano in the corner. He played a few bars of a waltz, then began to furiously hum it at the top of his lungs, sending the young woman into a fit of laughter. He took her hands and began to waltz her to his hum, twirling and spinning her and sending the tips of her skirt fluttering to produce olive green petticoats. Finally, almost out of breath, he tried to hum a big finish to the song and ended up puffing and squeaking out air as he dipped the girl low to the ground and kissed her sweetly on the nose. After they straightened, the two heard the door open and tried to duck behind chairs like Peter and Wendy, though they were apparently not aware of the teenagers' presence. A sharp grey-haired man in a tuxedo boomed, "Alex! Emma! What are you doing in here? Come back to the party at once!" He stormed out and Alex laughed, shooing Emma out the door. "Back to the party at once," he imitated gruffly. Before he shut the door, he turned and waved at the exact spot Peter and Wendy were hiding and called, "Goodbye," before leaving. Wendy looked at Peter with wide green eyes. "How did he..." Peter shrugged and shook his head. Then he asked her, "Do you remember when we danced with the fairies?" "Oh, yes," she answered nostalgically. Wendy looked at him seriously. "Peter...we could be like them." He looked at her darkly, and she dropped her eyes with the subject. Quietly, Peter stood. "I will miss your mother. She told the first stories, before you. Do you know how old I was when I heard her tell Cinderella from the window? Four. I need a mother sometimes, though I usually won't admit it, and she was there for the stuff most kids would forget." Wendy was hushed. Four? He had been watching her than since she was three or four. Peter...loved her. Suddenly, she knew it, more than anything else, that it was constant, and real. Wendy leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him tightly, pressing her hand over his heart, her ivory hand pale against his bare tanned chest. She felt it for fourteen beats, one for each year of his life she had missed, and then, she kissed him, softly. "Peter," Wendy said, pulling back. "I think that you and I fit together." She stood up and waited as he looked at her, curls stuck to her cheeks and spilling out of her bun, eyes bright and anticipating. Her peach dress clung to her stomach and fell off her hips carelessly, but the ruined satin clung to her breasts and arms as she held them out to him. She too was looking at him, this newly grown boy with mostly light russet curls and broader shoulders. She tucked her body into his, sliding her hand into his and putting her hips touching his. They swayed to unheard melodies, and clung to each other as the world spun around them, and they were not paying attention to it.  
  
-Not part of the Story- Well, kiddies, that's it for now. Please, review, sorry about the bad formatting.-The End for Now- 


	3. Then Between the Sand and Stone

When Peter and Wendy stopped dancing, they stood away from each other. He asked her carefully if she wanted to come back to Neverland, and she was silent for a long time. "Peter...I love Neverland, and though you'd rather not hear it, I love you also. But I can't run away from my problems right now. I have dragons to battle with my mother's death and I need to try to make things work in America, if only for a little while." She took a deep breath. Peter nodded. "I'll stay with you all the way to your new house. If you ever need me- for anything- leave your window open and I will come. I promise." Wendy affirmed this and pressed her face into his shoulder, breathing in his "Boy smell", musk and cinnamon and tropical fruit, holding him tightly. She knew that if she let go, he would leave her for the night. Slowly, Wendy untangled her arms from him and kissed him on the cheek. "Good night, Peter," she said, walking out of the door and down the hall to her room. Peter stared after her and then flew out the window, following her down the passage from outside the ship, watching her through the portholes. When she turned into a well-furnished room, he waited as she changed, respectfully turning his head MOSTLY away. When Wendy lay down in her bed, he gently hovered to watch her fall asleep, and after she had drifted off, she began to sob in her slumber. Her pale face contorted desperately and she turned to her side, crying, "Mama...Oh, Mama..." Alarmed, Peter raced to the front of the ship and turned the knob into the hallway anxiously. When it didn't open, he banged on the door, and a heavy-eyed attendant came to the door. He opened it a crack and said, "I'm sorry, sir, there are no visitors at such an hour of your class-" Peter pushed past and bellowed, "This is an emergency!" He flung open Wendy's door and cradled her in his arms as she screamed, tormented. It was a painful sound, and tears rolled down his cheeks. The attendant had followed Peter down the hall, but as he watched the two from the doorway, he took a deep breath and walked away, pretending to ignore the scene. Slowly, Wendy collapsed in his arms and stopped crying, her head going limp and falling back into the crook of his elbow. Peter set her down and tucked the blanket around her, knowing he could and should leave. Somehow, though, he could not make his feet move in the direction of the door, and found himself sitting in the closet, watching her. He couldn't sleep for fear of another nightmare from her- what if he didn't wake? Peter rested his head against the closet door and guarded her all night. At 6:00 in the morning, the employee walked into the room and shook the sleeping boy gently awake. Peter woke with a start, angry at himself for dozing off, and looked at the attendant perplexed. The man pointed outside the window to the rising sun, and he understood, hurrying outside the ship and resuming his watch from the porthole into Wendy's room. As soon as the worker was out of the room, Aunt Millicent brushed in, and the man gulped, wiping his brow. She was an intimidating woman. Aunt Millicent shook Wendy awake, grasping her arm and jerking her out of bed. "Get up. You will greet the day. We are almost there, and I haven't much time to spend with you before we must part." Aunt Millicent pulled the nightgown off of Wendy's body and she stood there in her underwear, shivering in the cold. She wrapped Wendy's corset around her and wrenched the laces shut so suddenly and tightly that Wendy didn't have enough air to gasp with. There was a loud cinching sound and a crack as the boards strained inside the corset. This was quite a feat- the girl was very thin naturally. Finally, the old woman tied the laces satisfied, and Wendy took shallow breaths to try to relieve the wave of nausea she was experiencing. As she looked down at her stomach, pressed inside her corset, she realized how uncovered she was and glanced toward the porthole. She saw Peter blush and turn his head quickly, and she turned crimson herself, remembering how she must have looked before the corset was on. Quickly, Aunt Millicent dressed her in a white satin gown edged in black lace and rubies. She put her hair up into a black lace hair net that featured a teardrop ruby hanging from the center, and Aunt Millicent looked at her contented. The distinguished lady shut the door after herself, calling, "I'm off to breakfast. You could do with that-" She looked at Wendy's stomach pointedly- "But make sure you're present at lunch." Quickly, Wendy locked it and opened the window, ushering Peter inside. She sat on the edge of her bed and winced as the corset cut into her abdomen, and the boy asked what was wrong. "You wouldn't understand," she said. He gave her the most crushed look, and Wendy gave in. "It's my corset. It's too tight. I can barely breathe." Peter motioned for her to stand up, and slowly unbuttoned the back of her dress, muttering to himself, "Breathe," as his arms shook. When her ashen back was exposed over the top of the ugly contraption, he unsheathed his dagger. Wendy knew the sound and turned, startled. "No! Just untie them- she'll suspect something if they're slit." Peter nodded and began to work on the knots, finishing quickly and sliding it off. Slowly, he placed his hands around her waist, inside the dress. She shivered at his touch, but his hands burned as they touched her hips, tingling with electricity. His fingertips were brushing her flat stomach, and she leaned back her head, resting it on his shoulder and turning her face toward his. Peter leaned closer, but something stopped them from kissing. It seemed to precious a moment for such a young thing, and the two looked into each other's eyes. Wendy was amazed at how they seemed to swallow her own, the way they changed with the colors of the sea. Now, they were a dark mottled blue, like an azure marble, stony, yet washing over her. She felt the majority of her body go limp, as though she had jumped into warm water, or sank into a bath. Peter always thought of Neverland when he observed her eyes. They were the deep green of the darkest parts of the forest, of Kensington Gardens at night, and although he would never tell anyone else, they were the color of his mother's eyes. They felt like a refuge to him, and his hands tensed slightly on her waist. He suddenly felt like he would cry, and he turned away, sliding his hands out of the corset. Wendy looked concerned, and she put one hand on his. "Peter," she said quietly. "I need someone to button my dress." He nodded and blinked, turning his head toward the ceiling. They burned like acid as the tears ran back into his eyes, and he blinked again, turning toward Wendy's back. His fingers struggled clumsily with the tiny buttons, but at last, they were all done. Wendy turned toward him to ask him a question, but he wasn't listening. He was thinking how unfair it was that she'd grown up so quickly, without him. "You're a young woman now." Peter whispered. She pressed her hand to her stomach and looked pained. Suddenly, he remembered something. "Tuesday is your fifteenth birthday." She nodded and steadied herself on a bedpost. "I know how old I am." Wendy tried to look interested, but she felt sick. "I'm sixteen. I'm growing anyway. You're making me grow up, but I still can't have you." The room slid around him, and Wendy closed her eyes, blinking slowly at his blurring face. Only his eyes were clear. Those eyes...she could feel the pain in them intensely. Her entire body burned, and she tried to take deep breaths. Wendy heard Peter's voice, thick with anguish. "Why are you making me love you, Wendy?" He sounded like the helpless little boy she had held through his nightmares, and tears ran down her porcelain face. "I don't know," she choked, and fell to the floor. Peter flung himself next to her, stroking her hair. "Wendy! Wendy, wake up!" He said loudly, increasing volume. "Wendy! Wendy!" He began to cry as he felt her chest- it wasn't moving, and she wasn't breathing. "Oh, Wendy...please," It was a heartbroken sight, the strong, tall boy, almost a man, weeping next to the grey-cheeked young woman. Peter leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Please, Wendy..." She didn't move. He ran down the hallway, looking for the attendant from the night before, but in his place was a woman who clicked her tongue and said in thick Cockney, "'E's gone now, guv- might as well wait until he comes in from doing his business." He yelled, "No! I need to see him now!" She gave him a strained look and repeated, "'E's doin' 'is BUSINESS." "Where is he???" Asked Peter. She sighed and pointed to a door. He ran towards it and burst in, scaring the employee to death. The man's eyes widened, and he yelled, "What in the bloody hell are you doing?" Peter stumbled, "It's...my friend. She's in trouble. She won't get up...I need help." The man buttoned his pants and walked with Peter, asking him questions about her. Finally, Peter burst, "I don't know! There's nothing I can do..." The man opened the door of the room and his eyes enlarged, his jaw lowering slightly. "Lad...she's got grey fever. I've seen it before." Peter shook his head. "What is that???" The attendant looked distressed. "It's a...very bad disease. Help me get her on the bed." Peter picked her up and laid her on her coverlet gently. The man handed him a cloth and a bowl of hot water. "Here- put it on her forehead and she'll come to. But she shouldn't leave her bed for three days, and she needs lots of fluids." Peter nodded and placed the cloth on her head, slowly moving it around. Her chest began to rise slowly in deep breaths. After ten minutes, she opened her eyes sluggishly. "I'm sorry I must grow up." Wendy said, and then drifted off to sleep. Moments later, she was thrashing in her nightmares, and he set down the bowl and cloth, wrapping her in his arms. She stopped flailing and he let go of her, resuming his position lying next to her on his back. Wendy moaned in sleep and rolled over, resting her head on his chest. Her curls tickled as they spilled across his bare torso, but he just smiled and stroked her back until she fell into a dreamless sleep.  
  
-Okay, that's it for now, but right- I apologize for the typos I just found in the last one, blasted Microsoft Word, which are in Chapter 2...and the mistakes, namely the fact that I called Michael dark-haired and then red- haired, thus, his hair is now AUBURN, 'k'sies? Hope you all like this chapter, please review, again, sorry for the bad format. Also, to the person who mentioned it, the inferiority quote in chapter one refers to a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt, who was probably not born yet, but whatever (. 


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